


Stranger Yet

by emmablowguns



Category: Hamlet - All Media Types, Hamlet - Shakespeare
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Short, This Is STUPID, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 13:45:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6959068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmablowguns/pseuds/emmablowguns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hamlet's been sneaking into Horatio's room in the middle of the night to share his bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stranger Yet

**Author's Note:**

> Im not even editing this because it was written mostly as a joke but ive realized my mistake because now I'm In Too Deep  
> you have been warned

Horatio hadn’t really been sleeping. While true that he’d said goodnight to Hamlet and retired to his room, He had been lying awake for some time now, waiting for those tell tale signs of activity. It had become almost routine to stay up, though his heart fluttered with uncertainty at the thought. 

He had been staying with Hamlet for the duration of their summer vacation, and for the past two weeks, he always found an excuse to climb into his bed in the middle of the night. Though when Horatio thought back, the habit more likely started even before that.

He could name several incidents when Hamlet would stumble back to their shared living quarters at the university, mumbling incoherently and obviously intoxicated. He would waste no time making himself comfortable as he hogged more than half of the bed and on some occasions, curled closer to Horatio if he tried to give him some room. He had been confused initially, but when it became clear that the stubborn prince would not be moved, Horatio gave up in favor of returning to sleep. Thus, a curious habit formed. 

The next morning, without fail, Hamlet would chalk it up to an honest mistake brought on by too much of whatever he’d had to drink and Horatio was always inclined to believe him. However, it became increasingly apparent that these nightly rituals, sober or not, were planned. He began to notice there was something suspiciously calculated in Hamlet’s actions. 

These suspicions were only confirmed when the incidents started happening with increasing regularity, and Hamlet’s act of playing drunk began to fade into almost complete sobriety. 

Horatio knew he should've brushed off Hamlet’s advances outright, or even attempted to remove him from the bed, but he couldn't help himself. 

There was something he found strangely comforting about waking up next to his best friend. Stranger yet, Horatio often found himself  _ craving  _ his presence. It suddenly felt right to lean closer into Hamlet’s arms, threading his fingers through his hair when he stirred from unpleasant dreams.

On those nights, the air seemed to sing with electricity, a strange undercurrent which vibrated between them even in sleep. Horatio felt sure that something was growing between them, but what exactly, he couldn't seem to place. It probably wasn’t appropriate, but then again, it was Prince Hamlet. What had ever stopped him from getting what he wanted in the past?

The only problem was that Horatio wasn’t sure  _ what  _ exactly he was looking for.

Now, the soft sound of Hamlet’s feet padding against the floor sounded immeasurably loud in the thick silence. His heart began a frenzied, irregular dance in his chest as he hoped, not hoped, but  _ wondered  _ if Hamlet would appear.

Like clockwork, his door squeaked open. Despite the obvious noise, and the fact that Horatio knew who it was by now, he pretended to be asleep. Playing into the game was the only thing he knew to do, and in his mounting confusion this odd routine was the only comfort. Horatio heard a small shuffling sound, incredibly close, as Hamlet presumably put down the flame he'd been using to guide his way. 

“Horatio.” He said, barely above a whisper. Horatio waited, not “stirring” immediately.  “Horatio.” Hamlet tried again, this time placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder and shaking gently.

“Hamlet?” He asked in what he hoped was a believable imitation of grogginess. He turned over to look up at the shadow of his friend, just barely illuminated by the candle. “What is it?” Though it was undeniably obvious by the look on his face that they both knew what he wanted.

“My room is too cold.” Hamlet said simply, and Horatio was surprised his excuse wasn't more elaborate. Usually Hamlet always crafted detailed justifications as to why there were no other options, and Horatio had brushed them every time. This excuse, however, made little to no sense. The near transparency of it worried him. It was the middle of summer, why would the room be even remotely chilly?

“Are you asking if you could…” Horatio trailed off, waiting for Hamlet to say it. Giving a name to their strange ritual would only make it more real, less forgettable in the morning, and he wasn't taking his chances. 

“Yes.” Hamlet replied after an uncomfortably long pause, “May I?”

Horatio scoffed but made room for his friend without another word. The prince wasted no time getting comfortable, hogging most of the blankets and pillows outright.

For some reason however, Horatio wasn’t content to just fall asleep like they normally would.

“You always take up so much room.” He sighed, turning on his side and propping himself up on his elbows to look more directly at Hamlet.

“I do not!” Hamlet replied defensively, though the amount of blankets wrapped around him begged to differ. Horatio scoffed and pulled, insistent on getting a little coverage, but Hamlet was stubborn. He wouldn’t budge.

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to be so stubborn?” Horatio knew this would rile him up, especially considering what a sore subject family was for Hamlet. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” He said, eyes narrowing and bottom lip jutting out in a defiant, over the top pout.

Horatio wanted to say it, but he couldn’t. He wanted to call him out about the fact that every night Hamlet would come in here and every night he would hog the entire bed, but the thought of confronting the incident head on was too overwhelming. Instead, he flopped down on his back with a sigh, watching the shadowy candlelight flicker against the ceiling.

“I guess you’re right.” Hamlet said softly, breaking the silence just as Horatio was on the edge of sleep. “Maybe we could share.”

“What do you mean?” He said cautiously, rolling over on his side to face Hamlet, who was already staring his direction with eyes that seemed to bore holes into him through the darkness. Horatio considered it a miracle that Hamlet wouldn’t be able to hear his heartbeat.

“Well…” He paused, appearing deep in thought, “I could just show you.”

It sounded like a question, but Horatio knew better than to think Hamlet would wait for approval from anyone. He swiftly closed the distance between them, draping his arms loosely across his chest and leaning his head into Horatio’s side. 

“Isn’t this better?” Hamlet whispered, like they were conspirators in a plot only he was aware of. It was at that point Horatio noticed how close their faces were. He could see the outlines of his sly smile, and his eyes, which seemed to light up like twin flames. Hamlet was staring back, clearly enjoying this. Would Horatio be a fool if he felt the same?

“I suppose so.” He knew his voice must be trembling, as what they were doing had crossed into uncharted territory.

“You are right, you know.”

“About what?” Horatio replied, looking down at Hamlet incredulously. 

His mind had been choosing to focus more intently on Hamlet’s hands, which had begun gently stroking his chest. Surely he must feel how fast his heart was racing! Yet the prince was speaking as if he wasn't practically  _ caressing  _ his best friend. While they shared a bed, no less!

Hamlet’s smile seemed to soften then, as if he could sense Horatio’s ebbing anxiety. 

“About the bed. I do have a tendency to take up too much space. I guess I've never had to share before, so it's hard to get used to it.”

“O-Oh. Of course.” You don't  _ have  _ to share anything, Horatio wanted to reply, but any remnants of logic had left him long since Hamlet first crawled into his bed. It was all he could do to just agree with him and hope his friend would fall asleep soon. 

“Why do you let me do this, Horatio?” His voice was suddenly flat, devoid of emotion or ulterior motives. It was a sharp contrast to the teasing of before.

“What?” Horatio asked dumbly, the question catching him off guard. Was Hamlet really going to say it? Confront the unspeakable? The thought caused his blood to run cold, his heart to skip a beat.

“Even back at the university, you'd always let me lay in your bed.” Hamlet hooked his feet between Horatio’s, an action that caused him to tense up. This was mistake apparently, because now Hamlet’s light stroking increased, as if he was trying to draw the anxiety out through his fingers. 

“You… You were drunk, Hamlet.” He said, trying a weak chuckle.

“Yes, but you don't really believe that do you?” Hamlet smiled, taking Horatio’s hand in his and studying it thoughtfully, running his fingers across his palm.

“I… I don't…” He wasn't prepared for this ruthless line of questioning, but Horatio supposed it was his fault for not just shutting up and going to sleep like he had every other night. Hamlet could be ruthless, but Horatio would be lying if he pretended he hadn't brought this on himself, if he pretended he didn't _ want _ to have this conversation.  

“What's got you so flustered, Horatio?” His grin seemed to light up the dark, smug and sly like a child who's just manipulated his way into getting what he wanted yet again. 

“I'm not!” He protested in what  _ definitely  _ wasn't a high pitched whine. 

“Don't be silly, look.” Hamlet reached up, cupping his face in his hands. “Your face is flushed!”

Horatio knew it was just an excuse, but he couldn't help but lean into the touch, an act that felt as forbidden as it did right. The line they'd crossed was far behind them and with every touch, every swipe of Hamlet’s thumb across his cheeks, he felt further and further from making up a viable excuse in the morning. 

Whatever was growing between them seemed to be reaching its zenith, and Horatio wasn’t sure if the thought frightened or excited him. 

Staring at each other like that in the dimly lit room, he wasn't sure who leaned forward first, only that their lips suddenly crashed together, the ensuing kiss like the release of a long held breath. 

It started chaste at first, nothing more than curious first contact, but Hamlet wasted no time parting Horatio’s lips with his tongue. His breath hitched, Horatio let out a wordless cry from the back of his throat. He'd never done anything like this before, but apparently the prince knew exactly what he was doing. Hamlet pulled away momentarily to shift positions. 

“I've never-” He began, attempting to explain even as he knew it was hopeless. 

“I know.” Hamlet interrupted firmly, moving to straddle Horatio’s hips. 

Before he knew what was happening, Hamlet had threaded his hand through Horatio’s hair and pulled to meet him halfway and continue the kiss. He yelped at the sudden insistence before quickly returning the affection.

This time, Horatio had gotten his bearings a little bit, opening himself up to Hamlet’s probing ministrations as he hungrily moved in closer.

It seemed they couldn't get enough of each other, all Horatio wondered was why they hadn't done this a lot sooner.

Hamlet pulled back and returned to his position next to Horatio, much to his dismay. 

“Why'd you stop?” He asked breathlessly. The kiss had been exhilarating, but it left him stunned, confused, and possibly wanting more from this side of his friend. A long silence followed, so long that Horatio almost thought he fell asleep. 

“You won't forget about this in the morning will you?” He finally replied, voice distant and clouded with sleep. 

“Of course not.” Horatio chuckled, turning to face Hamlet, “How could I?”

“We've never talked about it before.”

“You've never  _ wanted  _ to talk about it.” 

Hamlet said nothing, only eyed Horatio curiously, like a cat in the dark. 

Then, Horatio did the unthinkable: wrapped his arm around the prince and pulled him close. It was an act he'd only dreamed of weeks ago, an act of boldness he never thought he’d have the gall to achieve. Hamlet made a noise of disapproval before relenting, eventually curling into the embrace. 

“Are we  _ really  _ going to talk about this?” Hamlet asked uncertainly, an inflection which sounded foreign coming from him. 

“It'll be fine. Go to sleep.” Horatio whispered, and for once he actually believed it. 

**Author's Note:**

> what the fuck dude


End file.
